Little Deaths

“Don’t you know I have the power to deliver you or to crucify you?” Pilate had asked Jesus.

“You would have no power over me whatsoever,” Jesus had replied, “unless it were given to you from above.”

That exchange of dialogue had always fascinated Bobbie. Sex, she knew, was less about love than it was about power--about the power that one‘s lover gave her over him--about power, as it were, which came from “above“ (or, occasionally, from behind).

With Carl, the power was always given to her from behind; he preferred to fuck her doggy style, mounting her from the rear. That way, he said, he could pound his cock harder and deeper up her ass than he could otherwise. In other words, it gave him more power over her than he’d have over her if he fucked her face to face, in the missionary position--and it made his orgasm more intense.

He didn’t have to ask (or command) her to assume the position. She knew what he liked, and she was only too happy to oblige him.

“You’re a great lay,” he told her, as he knelt behind her on the king-size bed.

She was on her elbows and knees, with her ass high in the air and her legs parted wide. Carl could see her tight asshole between the smooth globes of her creamy buttocks. As he lubricated her anus and his erection, he nearly came. He loved nothing more than assaulting her ass with his cock. “You’re a fantastic piece of ass,” he said. His voice was hoarse with need.

Bobbie said nothing. She knew that he wasn’t speaking to her as much as he was to talking to himself. He was psyching himself up, the way some athletes did before a sporting event.

He gripped her hips, and she felt the tip of his penis slide between the cheeks of her ass. His glans pressed against her anus. He paused, then shoved his hips forward, and she felt her sphincter open to admit his thick, hard prick. Carl watched as the length of his swollen member vanished inside Bobbie’s impaled buttocks.